Moving Forward
by Emmeebee
Summary: Moving on is such a strange concept. Time passes, and I do things, yet I'm not moving on. Warnings: major character death


A/N: For r/FanFiction's August 2019 challenge with the prompt 'second person POV'. The original version is on AO3, but I've edited it into first person to comply with FFN's rules.

* * *

The world's closing in on all sides. Chest tight, my breath comes out in short gasps, shallow and searching. It's all I can do to stay standing. I'm folding in on myself, in and in like origami, each creased edge a border I'll have to climb and scramble and fight to get back over later.

I'm losing this territory war, losing and losing and losing...

Soon I'll have nothing left; no ground for retreat, no weapons to use, no cavalry to ride in and save me.

'Parvati!'

My vision blurs.

I fall.

Everything goes white.

-x-

The next thing I know, I'm blinking up at the sun, eyes blinded by the harsh glare. Chatter surrounds me, but I can't make out individual words or voices. I'm lying flat on soft grass, and someone's holding a wet cloth to my forehead. As if the issue is as simple as heat stroke.

I wish. If it were, the remedy would be just as straightforward.

Lavender's dead.

Even thinking the words breaks my heart.

She's gone, ravaged by Greyback in a forgotten corner of the battlefield. My best friend, her spark snuffed out while my back was turned.

What if I'd been there? Could we have fought him back together? Would it have been enough?

Maybe yes. Maybe no. I'll never know, and it kills me.

Only it doesn't. Not like it did her.

'Parvati, are you alright?' It's my sister, her hair streaked with dirt and dried blood and expression overflowing with concern.

'No.'

I love her, but McGonagall was right when she said that at Hogwarts, your house is like your family. After seven years of sharing a dorm with Lavender, our friendship is closer than any I've ever known.

She was the first person I turned to when I almost failed Transfiguration in second year because I couldn't concentrate due to the attacks, and when my uncle got sick, and when I came home from a date with Justin in tears because he kissed me and all I could think about was when it would be over.

She was the _only _person I turned to when I started thinking that maybe I didn't like anyone that way at all, and that maybe that was okay.

'Where's Madam Pomfrey?' a male voice calls out.

'I'm not hurt,' I say, but then that's not true at all. 'I don't need her,' I say, which isn't as much of a lie.

After all, it isn't her I need. It's Lavender.

If it had been anyone else, she's the one I would have mourned with.

-x-

Moving on is such a strange concept. Time passes, and I do things; I draw and I study and I spend time with my friends. In that sense, I'm moving on.

Yet I'm not _moving_ _on_.

At times, I don't think I'll ever feel whole again. I may not have had a panic attack since that day, but normality has been thrown out the window.

-x-

One day, it comes to me; a brief, fleeting memory. It's from fifth year, back before the cloud of darkness blocked out the sun.

Everyone has been in to talk to McGonagall about their career goals, and Lavender and I both told her we're not sure. I'm interested in running a business like my father does, but I have no idea what field, and Lavender's never been one to tie herself to any one future.

(Like a bird, she fluttered around until she fluttered away.)

We're sitting in the Great Hall, laughing about a joke Seamus made as Lavender takes his empty teacup. We've been practising our leaf readings, studying the symbols so we won't have to refer to our textbooks as often.

For the past few months, we've both been swiping any used teacup we can, even if we don't know who it belongs to. The results have been fascinating.

Lavender frowns down at the cup, her lips moving silently as she thinks. Then her eyes light up and, beaming, she starts to interpret the results for Seamus.

He's watching her with obvious awe.

'You know, you could do this for a living,' Seamus suggests when she's finished.

'At Muggle country fairs?' Lavender asks disdainfully. 'Most people don't want regular readings.'

'Most people don't know someone who's any good at them,' he shoots back.

'It's not a bad idea,' I say. 'We could start a teashop and offer readings on the side.'

The three of us spend the next two hours brainstorming and daydreaming. Like a snowball careening down a mountain, it grows and grows until we're struggling to even keep up with all the ideas we're throwing out.

All three of us live in a blissful state of excitement and possibility for a few weeks, our focus only shifting when it comes time to start our O.W.L.s. Then, the news comes out that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned, and all thoughts of it slip our minds.

-x-

'Seamus,' I say via Floo call that night, 'I have an idea.'

-x-

Two years later, Parvatea opens for business in Hogsmeade. It's a joint venture between Seamus and I; he handles the customer service while I do the readings, and we share the bookwork. I originally wanted to name it after Lavender, but after Seamus suggested the pun, it was too perfect to resist.

Instead, we honour her in the design. The walls are painted a faint shade of purple, and the tables' centrepieces are all magically preserved lavenders in glass vases. The theme is tasteful; if someone didn't know about Lavender, they'd think we just like the flower. But it makes it feel like part of her is still there.

Both aspects of the business go well. There is, as Seamus said, a market for people who actually do this well. Patrons Apparate in from all over the country, and the horde of preteen girls that flock in every time Hogwarts has a Hogsmeade weekend certainly doesn't hurt.

In them, I see Lavender and me at their age – wide-eyed dreamers trying to work out what life had to offer us.

Over time, as wrong as it feels, I start to move – not on, but forward.


End file.
